


Words With Friends

by threeturn



Category: One Direction (Band), Taylor Swift (Musician)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-02
Updated: 2014-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-14 07:29:22
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1258018
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threeturn/pseuds/threeturn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry rings Taylor the morning after the 2013 VMAs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Words With Friends

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by [this journalism](http://celebrities.ninemsn.com.au/blog.aspx?blogentryid=1160716&showcomments=true). Thanks to [sophieisgod](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sophieisgod) for looking it over! ♥

"Hiya, Harry," Taylor says when she picks up, and she doesn’t sound _un_ happy to hear from him.

"It was nice to see you at the party," he says. It was, too, even if she spent a lot more time with Ed than with him.

"Yeah. You told me that last night."

"Oh, right. But about what you said onstage—"

Taylor sighs. “Is that what you’re calling about?”

"No," says Harry. "I mean, even if the song really was about me, it would have been all right."

"I’ll keep that in mind," says Taylor, business-like. "Well, if that’s all—"

"But have you ever, um. Since we, you know. _Have_ you written any songs about me?” 

Taylor doesn’t say anything. Harry doesn’t know where she is, if she slept late like him or if she’s already out and about. He wants to picture her, but he doesn’t know if she’s got her lipstick on. “It’s okay if you have! I mean, it’s all for your art and that.”

"Harry, did you _want_ me to write a song about you?”

"I’m not bothered," says Harry, and sits down on the edge of the hotel bed. "I was just curious." He listens hard, in case he can hear Taylor breathe.

"One song," says Taylor finally.

"Oh. Just the one?" Harry picks at the hole in the knee of his jeans.

"We weren’t together for that long," says Taylor, and her voice is gentle. "Actually, it’s not just about you."

"That’s all right," says Harry. "I wouldn’t want you to feel obligated."

"Why would I—never mind. Look, it’s more about fame and the difference between two people in public and in private. It’s mostly metaphors, anyway."

"You’re good at that," says Harry respectfully. Taylor is awfully clever. He has thoughts about fame, too, but they probably don’t come out the way Taylor can write.

"There might be a line about a boat."

"Oh," says Harry. "You know I’m still sorry—"

"Let’s not go over it again."

"Sorry," says Harry. "Wait, scratch that."

"Consider it scratched," says Taylor, and then she laughs, just a little.

Harry thinks about what he can say to make her laugh again, or even just stay on the phone. “By the way, I meant to tell you,” he says, playing for time, and then, in a burst of inspiration, “I was in this antique shop in Chelsea the other day.”

"Really."

"Yes," says Harry. "I saw this wastepaper basket, but it had little claw feet like a bathtub, and the feet were like lizard feet, sort of, and it was silver. It was cute, it had scales. You’d have liked it." 

"You’re saying a trash can made you think of me, Harry?"

"It wasn’t a nasty kitchen sort of bin. It was small. Like, for a study or something. Maybe it could be used for recycling. Toss used envelopes in it." Taylor makes a bit of a snorting noise. Harry hooks a foot in the wastepaper basket, pulls it closer to the bed, and leans over to inspect the contents. "Or maybe crumpled up love letters I’ll never send."

"You bought it? You’re planning to travel with an antique trash can?"

"I might give it to someone," says Harry. "Are you planning to go to London anytime soon?"

"Not really," says Taylor. "Maybe this winter."

"That’s nice," says Harry. He puts one hand over his mouth so he won’t say anything else. It still smells of orange peel. He puts his hand down. "Do you want to meet up when you come?"

"Harry…"

"Just friends!" says Harry. "You could come round to Ben’s, he won’t mind. We could make scones. You can tell me metaphors."

"Harry, do you want to see me or do you want me to write a song about you?"

"Maybe just a song about the scones," says Harry. "Is it all right if we give some of them to Ben? I mean if we’re using his kitchen. You could bring some of that jam you gave Ed."

"That was delicious jam," Taylor agrees. "Ed really enjoyed it."

"I’ll bet," says Harry. Taylor’s never given him jam. Harry doesn’t mind, but it’s not logical. _He’s_ the one who bakes.

"Oh, Harry. There’s nothing going on between me and Ed."

"It’s okay," says Harry. "I like Ed. I understand. There’s nothing going on between me and Grimmy, either."

"Excuse me?"

"In case you were wondering," says Harry quickly.

"Look, Harry, you have my blessing if—"

"No," says Harry. "Don’t give me your blessing."

"All right," says Taylor.

They’re quiet for a minute.

"So what are you doing right now?" asks Harry.

"I’m getting my other phone out."

"Are you calling Ed?"

"No, you idiot." There’s affection in her voice, Harry thinks. Hopes. "I’m opening up Words With Friends."

"Oh," says Harry. " _Oh_.” He lunges for the desk where his iPad is and trips over the silver basket. “Okay, here I am. I’m ready.”

"No calling Zayn for help," Taylor warns him.

"Of course not," says Harry indignantly. "I don’t cheat!"

There’s a pause. Harry’s so stupid. He pulls his own hair, as hard as he can.

"I know that," says Taylor at last.

"You do?"

"Mmm," says Taylor, like she’s already thinking of a seven-letter word to crush him with. "It’s your move."

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted on [tumblr](http://valencing.tumblr.com/post/67375578611/tinyfic-words-with-friends-by).


End file.
